


The Homefront is its own battlefield

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars [8]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Brothers, Brothers being assholes, Clones, Gen, Humor, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23444701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: Ponds and Fox engage in some percussive negotiations regarding allocations of essential republic resources.
Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & CC-6454 | Ponds
Series: Soft Wars [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683775
Comments: 33
Kudos: 694





	The Homefront is its own battlefield

**Author's Note:**

> Look ma, clones who AREN'T Rex! I'm expanding my horizons!
> 
> Mando'a translations are included in the end notes, with links to take you back to where you were. Mando'a definitions from [mandoa.org](http://mandoa.org/).

“Coruscant Guard Front Office, please hold. Coruscant Guard Front Office, please hold. Coruscant Guard Front Office, please hold. Thank you for holding, how may I direct your call? My apologies sir, that issue cannot be resolved by the Guard Office, please hold while I redirect you to the Senate Requisitions hotline.”

There are some brothers, Ponds knows, that in a very short time have proved themselves exponentially more valuable than the cost of creating and training them. Ponds likes to think he’s one of those: General Windu certainly seems to think so. Every time Ponds manages to claw an entire 20 minutes of free time from his General’s schedule around midmeal, Windu’s praise is effusive, at effusive as the man ever gets. If he manages the miracle of coinciding that 20 minutes with a delivery of something still hot to their offices, he knows within a day Windu will have dug him up some sweet dessert thing he’s never heard of before but somehow always ends up liking.

(He managed to pull that off on an actual council meeting day once. Just once, but he’d been invited to eat with them and bore witness to the Masters of the Jedi order quietly teasing each other but also attempting to steal each other’s cake. It was amazing, but Ponds knows no one will ever believe him.)

So yes, Ponds knows his worth. He also know a brother who’s worth ten of him. A hundred.

“Coruscant Guard Front Office, please hold. Commander for your own health and safety I highly recommend coming back when you have an appointment.” Blockade spares Ponds only a quarter second of a glance. “He’s particularly tetchy today. Someone broke the caff dispenser and we’re surviving on instant.”

Ponds winces in sympathy, but he’d already known that. An undercaffeinated Guard Command was really hard to miss. He holds up the insulated canteen he brought like a totem to ward away bad spirits. “I come bearing gifts?”

That nets him a slightly longer look, an entire second this time, before Blockade goes back to wrangling the two square meter switchboard more than three quarters lit up with incoming and waiting calls. He plays the board like a maestro, a monarch in his domain. “That’ll probably net you a minute and a half with him. Up to three if you weren’t cheap. Thank you for holding Aide Terah, yes we are aware of your 12th hour appointment. I have you here as needing to discuss security for your consulate’s ascension ball, is that correct? Understood enjoy your day.”

Ponds smiles his most charming smile. “That’s good to know. But I was a bit more interested in finding out how much of _your_ time this might get me.”

Blockade pauses. He eyes Ponds up and down levelly. Ponds is in his dress grays; he’s spent a considerable amount of time ensuring every seam is pin-straight aligned. His cap is tucked into his off-hand elbow with military position. His boots are shined enough to reflect the overhead lights. He resists the urge to check for lint.

“Forty seconds,” Blockade says flatly. That’s fine; not good but workable. Ponds can say a lot in forty seconds.

The barest flick of Blockade’s eyes rings alarm in Ponds instincts, and without thought he’s ducking a blow at his temple from behind.

Ponds discards the canteen first thing and vaults the Guard reception desk, hoping to put some space between them. His assailant is just as good as he is, and a hair faster. By the time Ponds is planting his feet, there’s a forearm flying at his neck and a shin going for his knees.

Blockade ducks the flailing limbs, unfazed, and when Ponds and his attacker roll into a grapple he sidesteps them without hesitation. “Thank you for holding, how may I direct your call?”

It’s a breathless half a minute of blows to soft tissue and bruising holds around extremities. Ponds is extremely disappointed to find himself ending up belly down, an elbow wrapped around his neck and a knee pressed to his back over his left kidney.

“Hello vod’ika1,” Fox purrs in his ear, his voice stretched around a manic smile. “It’s always so lovely to see you.”

“’Morning vod2,” Ponds replies. Optimistically, he tests for any give in Fox’s hold. The elbow at his neck cinches warningly. No fool, Ponds goes limp. “Did you get new carpet? I like it.”

“Yes we did, thank you for noticing, I picked it out myself during the copious hours of free time I find on my hands.” Fox re-balances his weight. In the time it takes Ponds to consider exploiting that to throw him off, he’s already settled and any attempt wouldn’t be likely to end in Ponds’ favor. “We had to rip out the old one. The mouse droids were just fine against the viscera, but they just could _not_ do a thing about the stain.”

The new carpet is deep red.

The thing is, it’s probably not a joke. Blockade’s a brother trained in logistical administration but he’s as Mando’ad as the rest of them. Fox says he can kill a man with a flimsycut, and Ponds fully believes he could if he had to. He doesn’t have to; there are shivs in the pen holder on his desk.

Ponds sighs. “Vod…”

“Do you know,” Fox continues companionably, “I have yet to have to murder a brother for pissing me off? Are you looking to be the first Ponds? I’d make it special, just for you. Give you that personal touch.”

“Vod,” Ponds whines, and squirms against Fox’s arm. “Vod come on we _need_ him!”

“You _and_ your Jedi can go fuck yourselves. Blockade is the only reason I haven’t snapped and butchered every fucking one of you, he’s an essential Republic Security resource.” Fox pushes down on his knee for a half second until Ponds grunts in pain. Before Ponds has time to react, Fox has him flipped face up, knee threatening his right kidney now and their noses nearly touching. “There’s a plaque on his desk and everything,” Fox says.

Ponds glances to the side. Obligingly, Blockade wriggles a brass tent plaque guarding his considerable inbox. It does, in fact, read ‘Blockade: Essential Republic Security Resource’. Huh. How did Ponds miss that?

Blockade diverts another call and stymies two separate senators’ offices’ attempts to request Fox attend to whatever it is they feel needs the aesthetic of an armored Guard Commander to seem more important.

Ponds can barely breathe past the _need_. Or that might be Fox’s forearm against his trachea.

“Fox-” he tries one more time. Maybe a custody sharing arrangement? Fox makes his grin go entirely serial killer. A favorite trick of Alpha-6, Fox’s trainer.

“I will absolutely authorize lethal measures against anyone attempting to remove Essential Republic Security Resources from Coruscant Guard custody vod’ika. Do you want that?”

A breath, a moment of pig-headedness, but Ponds does have some self-preservation.

“No,” he caves. He can’t help but sound particularly sulky.

“No,” Fox agrees affably. “No you don’t.” He holds Ponds a second longer to make his point before levering himself off, smacking a hand against Ponds’ forehead to push himself upright. Ponds slaps at his wrist irritably and aims a jab at his armpit when that doesn’t work. They squabble silently as they haul themselves to their feet, Ponds yanking his grays huffily back into order. Fox confiscates the canteen. Ponds doesn’t bother to protest. “Get your ass out of my office Ponds. I’ll let the chat know you’re buying us the first round next time we drink.”

Ponds sniffs, marching out stiff-backed without responding. He’s lost a battle here today, but the war rages on.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Little brother, baby brother. Back  
> 1\. Brother. Back  
> Foxie are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay Foxie?
> 
> Blockade got his name for his incredible skill at stonewalling anyone Fox doesn't want to meet with.

**Works inspired by this one:**

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End file.
